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forgetmenotsandroses · 5 years

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The 4 Times Baz Tried to Say I Love You and the One Time He Actually Did

This was inspired by the Carry On Countdown day 24 prompt ‘ways to say i love you’, but life got in the way and it’s a little late :(

Big big thanks to @slightlystalesushirolls for dealing with me as I wrote this!!

Baz looks into the face of the boy the Crucible has brought to him, his supposed mortal enemy. But instead of the Mage’s pet, instead of a hateful creature, instead of whatever vile things Fiona’s said about the kid, Baz sees himself. To clarify, he sees another boy, terrified, and thrown into the deep end, but ready to fight. So he takes the hand extended in front of him. And stares into the most beautiful, ordinary pair of blue eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes. Eyes that he’s failed to notice, lost in thought as he is. And curls the colour of bronze. And a sprinkle of freckles, like fairy dust on golden skin. The chosen one is… handsome? Attractive? Incredibly lovely? This is completely unexpected. No one warned him about this. For once in his short but meticulously and carefully planned out life, Baz is flustered. Stunned. Gobsmacked. He tries to form words. Nothing comes out. He tries again. This time, a faint syllable emerges.

“I…”

This is more difficult than expected. What is he even going to say? Baz is hit with a realization, one that takes awhile to process. He has somehow become absolutely smitten with this boy he barely knows. But if he can just get the words out, the boy before him will know just how he feels. Maybe he believes in love at first sight too (not that Baz would ever admit to believing in love at first sight, he’s far too old for that fairytale nonsense). For a split second, Baz feels brave.

“I think…”

But the weight of his family and their legacy press down on him. How could he do this to them? After everything they’ve worked for, after his mother gave her life for his. The weight is heavy, far to heavy for the small shoulders of a young boy.

“I hate you!”

Baz is fifteen years old, and busy daydreaming up a world where he doesn’t have to pretend he hates the chosen one, where he is happy and light and free, where Simon Snow loves him back. His peaceful dreams of a flat lit by the soft beams of the afternoon sun and making out by the window (he is a teenage boy) are immediately interrupted by said chosen one himself storming into their room.

“Aww Snow, is something wrong?”

Simon scowls. “Fuck off, Baz. I’m not in the mood for your sinister nonsense.”

Internally, Baz sighs. He would like nothing more than to comfort the idiot before him, soothe his worries, make sure everything will be okay. But even if he did, Simon would definitely think he was joking. There’s no point. As Simon crashes around the room, Baz continues his daydream. Risky business, he knows, but what Simondoesn’t know won’t hurt him, and there’s nothing wrong with a little self indulgence, so long as no one ever finds out. Not like there’s mind readers in here anyways.

He’s so caught up in his domestic daydreams that he almost misses it when Simon leaves. In fact, he’s so caught up in his daydream that he forgets, for just a second, that they’re mortal enemies. He forgets that Simon doesn’t, wouldn’t, could not love him under any circumstances. Baz’s brain goes blank, and for a blissful moment Simon is just leaving their flat to do some errands, maybe get some groceries. When he comes back, Baz will kiss him and they’ll be happy together. For now, though, Baz bids his boyfriend adieu.

“Love you!”

A very frustrated Simon turns so forcefully that there are probably skid marks left on the floor, and Baz is snapped back into reality.

“What did you say?”

Baz backtracks furiously. Fuck. “I said that I loathe you! Whatever’s going on in that thick skull of yours doesn’t mean you get to treat our shared space like trash! Have some manners!”

During the fistfight that follows those comments, Baz feels a combined sense of relief and regret.

“You like her too, don’t you. But that’s too bad, because I’ve already asked her out!”

Baz looks up into Simon’s gleeful face.

“What are you talking about?”

Simon’s grin stretches wider, if that’s possible. “Agatha, obviously! I see you look at us whenever we’re together. I can tell how jealous you are!”

Baz swallows. He is jealous, but not of Simon.

“So, when I asked her out, and she said yes, I made sure to come up here and rub it in your stupid, plotting face!”

Simon continues talking, but Baz’s mind is elsewhere. His heart sinks. Hard. It was inevitable, obviously. The school’s golden boy and golden girl getting together. He’s pretty sure that there’s a pool going on whether Agatha is going to ask Simon first or Simon will ask Agatha (although that’s been resolved now), and everyone knows how perfect they would be together. Agatha Wellbelove, the sweetest, loveliest girl in all of Watford known for not just her beauty but her kindness, and Simon Snow, the handsome, dashing hero, the mage’s favourite, the chosen one. They fit together like puzzle pieces, her softness smoothing out his rough and both of them bathed in golden light. Like Barbie and Ken, made for each other. Yet, in a small, secret corner of his heart, Baz has unconsciously held onto the tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, this could work out. That after the war was over and the dust settled, Simon would turn to him. That Simon would choose Baz the same way Baz would choose Simon. In a heartbeat. After all, haven’t they been through everything together?

Doesn’t Baz know Simon the best out of anyone, and vice versa? Baz is certain he cares about Simon more than anyone else in the world, more than the idiot mage or Agatha Wellbelove or even Penny Bunce, who clearly loves Simon dearly. There is no one else on the planet that Baz loves with such passion, but when he opens his mouth, his heart beats too fast and the words get tangled up and he says nothing at all.

It’s mid-October, and Simon Snow walks into their room looking like a used punching bag. He’s shaking slightly, his face is bruised and cut up, he has a limp, and bandages cover his left arm. He looks worn and weary, far older than his seventeen years. Baz wants to gather him up, find out what happened. Baz wants to take whoever’s responsible (probably the incompetent mage) and beat them within a centimetre of their life. Baz stares for a moment too long at the beautiful boy in front of him and wonders for the millionth why the world let someone so perfect become so broken.

Simon snarls, voice cracking. “What are you looking at?”

‘You’re beautiful.’ Baz thinks. ‘I love you’, he wants to say desperately. ‘I love you and I’ve loved you since the day we met, when the Crucible brought us together and even if you killed me I’d love you still. I want to kiss the tears from your face and hold you in my arms and tell you that darling, everything will look better in the morning because you, Simon Snow, are a fucking miracle, and the world rights itself around you. My world rights itself around you.’ Baz inhales, exhales deeply.

“I was looking at your stupid expression, Snow. Your mouth was hanging open so wide I thought your jaw might fall off.”

Everything is on fire. At least, that’s what it feels like to Baz. Watford is under attack, children’s screams echo into the night, and the world around him burns. Tonight, everyone else seems to be just as flammable as him.

As he runs through the gates to face the oncoming horde of monsters, several of Baz’s classmates fight alongside him. It’s funny that the Mage, supposed protector of the school, isn’t there to help. He’s probably fled in his cowardice. Despite this, the staff are fighting from the towers, casting protection spells and shooting down the occasional beast as they evacuate students. Of course, on the front lines, there’s Dev and Niall, his trusted friends and loyal compatriots. Unexpectedly, there’s also Bunce, Rhys, Elspeth, Gareth, Trixie, and Keris. It’s strange, to be on their side for once. He thought it might end the other way around, but here they are, coming together as one to defend Watford, their home. And come together, they do. Waves of magic hit goblins, chimeras, numpties, and other assorted creatures, while spells fly through the air like lightning. In fact, actual lightning flies through the air as well. It’s starting to storm, with rain lashing over the faces of the fighters and lightning crackling and thunder sounding in the distance. As it pours, Bunce, ever resourceful, casts a ‘keep clear’ onto her glasses. The rest of them copy her, using various spells to defend themselves from the weather as well as the beasts they’re fighting. As the battle intensifies, he feels his fangs emerge, but he doesn’t care, and no one else does either. Why would they care about something so trivial, when they’re winning?

As their opponents retreat, Agatha Wellbelove runs out of the Wandering Wood with Simon on her tail, yelling. The battle shifts. The forest is on fire. Suddenly, Keris screams as Trixie collapses into her arms, and Baz can’t tell whether or not she’s alive or dead. He can hardly make out anything through the rain, smoke, and bodies. As other move to cover them, magic and sparks dance together, intermixed with ashes blowing from the slowly smoldering forest. Every hair stands on end. Baz is covered in blood, so much blood, and he can’t even tell if it’s his. The pace speeds up, because if they’re going to win, they need to win now. Alistair fucking Crowley, this is cutting it close.

There is a seemingly endless stream of monsters, despite their efforts. It feels more and more like their reserves are dwindling while the numbers of the enemy stay the same. As merwolves emerge from the moat and they’re besieged on both sides, Baz casts spell after spell trying to find one that works. He finds the right words in an old Christmas carol. As silver bells rain from the skies above, the merwolves hiss and retreat.

In the midst of the battle, Baz sees Simon. He doesn’t care anymore if else anyone sees them. This could be the end, so fuck it. As he navigates himself through the sea of combatants, he sees Simon doing the same. Soon, sooner than expected, Simon is within reaching distance. They fight back to back.

“Snow, Simon, I—” what if, after tonight, he never sees Simon again? The thought is terrifyingly real. Visions of the chosen one dance in his mind’s eye, a bloodied body broken for good, bronze curls buried in mud, soft blue eyes unseeing. There is so much to process, so much to say, and far too little time. So it slips out in a bare whisper.

“I love you.”

He tries again, louder, more forceful. Trying to cut through the screaming and muck and grime. “Simon Snow! I love you!”

Simon stops for a moment, shocked. Time stops, and it’s just the two of them.

“I’ve loved you since I was eleven, and I think I’ll love you forever! If this fight doesn’t go our way, I want you to know that I died loving you, because you’ve been my light all these years and if you go, I’ll go too because there’s no bloody way I’m going to live in a world that you’re not in!”

Simon looks at him again, tears in his eyes. He turns and takes a step towards Baz.

“Baz,” he says, “Baz I feel the same—“

And that is where Simon, sweet, impulsive, stupid Simon, makes a mistake. You never turn your back on the enemy in battle. The goblin he was fighting stabs, fast and dirty, at Simon’s back. As he collapses, Baz lets loose a cry and lets go of every primal, feral urge he’s been holding back. Fury and adrenaline aid his movements and he slices through with spells and brute strength. He carves out a rough patch for him and Simon, enough to breathe and check if he’s alive because there’s no way in hell this is how it ends. Simon looks so small.

“Baz,” he whispers. “Baz, listen.” Simon goes into a coughing fit, and his hands are splattered with red when he stops.

“Shh. It’s alright. You don’t have to talk.” Baz is all tenderness now, even as the horde creeps in around them. Nothing in the world matters more than this.

“I need you to hold my hand, right now. I’m going to give you some of my magic.” Simon is curled up now, blood flowing fast from his back. That much magic use will surely damage his shattered body more than it already is.

“Simon—“ He looks again around him; the gate is breaking. Monsters surround the walls. Watford is almost done for.

“Baz, now!”

Baz hesitates for a split second before grabbing Simon’s hand, and promises to himself that he will not let go. No matter what happens.

The spell comes to Baz, almost laughable in its simplicity. He holds hands with the boy he’s loved forever, and feels magic greater than he’s ever know well up inside of him. His blood sings, filled to the brim with potential and fire.

“Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.”

A flash of white light and the battlefield stills. Slowly, slowly, the monsters disappear, like photographs developing in reverse. As the swarms fade from view until they’re nothing more than dust motes in bright light, something stirs behind Baz. He turns. Against all odds, against everything, Simon Snow is alive.

“He’s here.” He whispers, and Baz is at his side in an instant.

“Who’s here, darling?”

Simon raises a shaking hand, and points. The air around them changes, and he sees his celebrating, mourning classmates and teachers stiffen. Magic is draining rapidly from the land, leaving Baz feeling parched and dry. There’s a little boy on the field now, maybe eleven or twelve years old, bouncing a red ball. Baz starts, but as the child walks towards them, it’s clear that he only has eyes for Simon.

As he approaches, the stares of everyone rest upon them. No one moves a muscle, save the child and Simon, who is starting to push himself up, though he’s pale with loss of blood. Baz tries to help him, or stop him, but he’s paralyzed. The kid is eerily familiar, and it’s only when he speaks do the pieces click in Baz’s mind. A younger, dirtier Simon Snow is before them.

“Hello.” He says. “I think you’ve been expecting me.”

Simon looks at him, stares for a second, like his eyes need time to focus. Baz wants to scream, but time seems like syrup and the air is so still.

“I know how to stop you. I wasn’t sure before, but I’m sure now.”

The boy sneers at that.

“What are you going to do? Stab me with your little sword? Use a big, powerful spell? I’m the Insidious Humdrum. Fighting me is pointless.”

“No,” rasps Simon. “I’m not going to fight you. I’m giving back what I took from you.”

The Humdrum has reached them now. He’s not angry, not disdainful anymore. He seems inquisitive, and when Simon extends his trembling hands, he takes them. Simon closes his eyes, and Baz sees the strain in his face. It takes him a second, but everyone on the grounds seems to start realizing what’s happening. Simon is pushing his magic into the Humdrum, who’s accepting it willingly. All Baz can do is stare as Simon weakens, wringing out every last drop of magic from his tired body for what seems like hours but could be minutes, even seconds. Time passes strangely when everyone is frozen in place, unable to tear their eyes away. Suddenly, he collapses against Baz. It’s over.

Miraculously, the dead zone lifts. Magic returns to them, flooding in as if some gate has opened, and Baz starts to cast every single healing spell he knows. Simon is non-verbal, looking up with blind eyes and all Baz can think is I’m losing him.

“Hold on love, I’ve got you. Keep your eyes open and it will be okay. Just keep your eyes open…”

Bunce comes up first, followed by Wellbelove and Dev and Miss Possibeif and a torrent of other students and teachers. They form a healing circle, frantically trying to stem the flow of blood. Nothing seems to be working, either because their magic reserves have been depleted, or Simon is too far gone. Baz can’t tell. In the chaos, the Humdrum has slipped away into nothingness.

This is Baz’s nightmare, his personal hell. He’s dreamed of fire and blood and the sting of bitter tears, but it’s always been Simon standing above him, while Baz dies looking into those perfect, ordinary eyes. It’s not supposed to be like this; the chosen one in his arms, the little life he has left draining rapidly from his bruised body.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please.” The word echoes in his skull, and Baz is reminded of the old lullaby. He owes it to Simon, he figures. To sing him to sleep, to comfort him this last time. He prays that this will make up for each time he couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t say anything when he knew Simon was hurting. He knows it isn’t enough.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey…”

Baz is crying now, fat teardrops running down his face. He hasn’t cried this hard since he was a child. He lets out great, gasping sobs, hardly able to get the words out, but he owes this to Simon. Everyone around him has gone silent.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you…”

They’re too young for this. Far too young to die in a war that isn’t theirs. Simon Snow deserves to be more than a faded flower, a name in the history books. He deserves to be alive and vibrant and so bright it hurts to look at. With this thought in mind, Baz sings the last bit of the song. He puts everything he has into it, desperately hoping it will be enough. A last-ditch effort to save the one he loves.

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

But the chosen one is silent and grey from blood loss, his face smudged with ash and dirt. Carefully, gently, Baz wipes the grime from his face, smooths out the unruly curls like he’s always dreamed of doing, though not like this. Never like this. He silently places a kiss on Simon’s cold lips. How long has he imagined this moment? How many times has he wished and hoped just to brush his lips against Simon’s? But he always thought that his lips would be warm. Right now, it’s like kissing ice. He looks at the face of brilliant, golden boy he’s been in love with since the beginning, with no tears left to cry. Then Simon opens his eyes, and kisses Baz right back.

For a moment, it’s just them. Just tongue and lips and teeth and Simon and Baz just like it should be, just like it’s always been. The battlefield and everyone in it melts away and Baz wants to stay like this forever.

Bunce’s screams puncture the space first. As he opens his eyes, he can’t even be mad, because Simon looks so happy to see her. They’re crying big, dripping tears, and she embraces both of them, hugs them so hard that Baz wheezes and Simon cries out and everyone around them starts, remembering that Simon is still injured. With renewed energy, healing spells are cast, potions conjured, and bandages are wrapped. Despite this, Simon can’t feel his legs. Baz carries him as everyone walks back to Watford, together and triumphant. Simon muses that maybe it’s permanent, but losing the use of his legs seems a small price to pay for his life. He grins, and Baz smiles fondly.

“What do we do now?”

“We carry on, love. Just like we always have, just like we always will.”

Simon smiles wider, if that’s possible, and leans in for another kiss.

#coc 2018 #carry on countdown #snowbaz #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #im actually proud of this yall #trin writes #carry on fic #carry on fanfic #carry on fanfiction

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